


The Itch

by orphan_account



Category: 2PM
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roughly three days after their return from Thailand, Chansung develops the Itch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Itch

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010, posted in 2011...this is an old fic, originally posted [here](http://voyeurs.livejournal.com/6158.html). I've cleaned it up the best I can thanks to the fabulous [Rikki](http://morago.livejournal.com/)!
> 
> I've warned for mild dubcon - there are two scenes with no sex that could be read as one member coming on too strongly. Please let me know if you think more warnings apply.

Roughly three days after their return from Thailand, Chansung develops the Itch.

He’s had it before, or something like it – he’s twenty-two, after all – and so he tries to tamp it down and take care of things on his own, but as much as he’d like to play by the idol-eunuch rules, after a while his hand just doesn’t help. 

“No,” Minjae says sharply, when Chansung pulls on his best beanie and moves to leave the dorm. “I know that look. Stay away from your exes, other idols and especially the fans.”

Chansung stares at him. “But –“

“And that’s final!” Minjae points a threatening finger at him before snatching up his messenger bag and backing towards the door, careful to keep himself between Chansung and freedom. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

Chansung frowns. “But you’re about to go out.”

Minjae stops to think that one through. “And when I’m not here…” he pauses again, perking up as Wooyoung wanders out of the bathroom and down the hallway, scratching his neck and yawning, “Wooyoung will fulfil my duties!”

“No thanks,” says Wooyoung indifferently and continues towards the kitchen.

“Jang Wooyoung!” Minjae falls back on his secret weapon, his sharp, authoritative manager-voice, the one he only pulls out for special broadcasts and Serious Conversations. “Make sure Chansung doesn’t have sex!”

Wooyoung freezes mid-step then slowly turns, incredulous. “With me?”

“With anyone!” Minjae’s phone bursts into song and he tugs it from his pocket by one of the charms hanging off it, before fixing them both with a final glare. “Okay? Okay.”

The door swings shut behind him and Chansung and Wooyoung exchange a glance.

Chansung pulls his beanie down. “You going to cockblock me?”

Wooyoung shrugs and returns to his kitchen mission. “Enjoy your STDs.”

The Itch fades a little at that, and combined with the knowledge that Minjae doesn’t make idle threats, Chansung decides to stay at home.

 

\- - -

 

The Itch returns a few days later when they’re sitting at the table about to eat and Junsu cracks an unfortunate joke about a bear and a policeman that only Khun laughs at. Chansung probably would have laughed along with him had a shudder not run through his body and made his balls tighten in want for someone, _anyone_ , to sort things out.

Junho starts a story about a Dream Team filming and Chansung listens with only one ear, picking at his food and willing the Itch to hold off for maybe another half-hour, until he can hide in the bathroom and look after it with those magazines Taecyeon brought back from the States.

He stirs his spoon through his soup with one hand and eases the other under the table, pressing his palm to the prickling in his crotch. _Twenty more minutes_ , he promises, leaning forward both to take a mouthful of soup and to press harder without being noticed. _Nineteen. Soon._

Junsu interrupts Junho to explain the bear joke and gesticulates wildly, bumping Wooyoung in the process and knocking his spoon right out of his hand. It arcs gracefully and drops between Chansung and Wooyoung’s chairs, hitting the floor with a tinkle and flicking soup on Chansung’s shoe.

“Sorry, man,” Junsu says, shooting Wooyoung an apologetic look, but he just sighs and waves it off, pushing his chair back and ducking under the table to retrieve his spoon.

Chansung’s only half-aware of what’s going on, still distracted by the insistent tingling from below, and he moves his feet automatically only to realise a second later where Wooyoung’s head is right now. Reality returns with a thump and he glances down to find Wooyoung’s eyes trained on his palm, which is quite obviously cupping himself and may have been doing some grinding as well.

He tears his hand away and sits on it. “Sorry.”

Wooyoung levels an unreadable look at his crotch, which is still tingling and sporting an embarrassing bulge. “Not as sorry as I am.” He backs out from under the table and returns to his chair, making a big show of wiping his spoon on his shirt. “Way to make me lose my appetite.”

Junsu pouts, thinking the comment’s directed at him. “I apologised already, okay? I just got a bit passionate.”

“Seems to be a running theme,” Wooyoung comments drily, and slurps at his soup to punctuate.

Chansung presses his knees together and waits painfully for dinner to end.

 

\- - -

 

A few nights later they’re all assembled in the lounge room, watching an episode of Running Man to unwind after a long day. Chansung’s sharing the couch with Wooyoung and Taecyeon, Junsu’s sitting on one of the kitchen chairs and rubbing Tiger Balm into his knee, and Khun and Junho are propped up by a mountain of pillows on the floor. It’s all very domestic and relaxing, or at least it is until the Itch decides to strike once more and suddenly a raging hard-on is tenting Chansung’s pants.

He grunts in surprise and sits forward on the couch, leaning over his lap and resting his elbows on his knees. The movement elicits a curious look from Wooyoung, hands never pausing from the gentle petting he’s giving Jeonggam, who is stretched out on his thigh and rumbling contentedly. “What’s wrong?”

Chansung shakes his head and slides back a little, angling his hips towards the armrest. “Nothing.”

Wooyoung eyes him for a moment longer, then shrugs and returns his attention to the TV. “Okay.”

Taecyeon lets out a snore and his head slumps sideways onto his shoulder.

Jeonggam opens his mouth wide in a silent yawn, tongue curling up as he stretches out his front legs. Wooyoung scratches him behind the ears until he settles again. “You tired, little man?”

Khun rolls over, eyes gleaming in the light from the TV. “I don’t know about him, but I am.” He covers up a yawn of his own. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Junho flops over in agreement. “Hyung. Help me up.”

Khun tsks. “Lazy bum.” He stands and rolls his neck till it cracks, the sound making Jeonggam’s tail twitch, then tucks a pillow under one arm before heaving Junho up with the other. “Night you guys!”

Wooyoung laughs at something on the TV and waves distractedly. “Yeah, night.”

“Night,” Chansung echoes, waiting until they’ve shuffled off to their rooms before narrowing his eyes at the pillows they’d left behind. It wouldn’t be too hard to just reach out and grab one, and then casually place it in his lap to hide his increasingly inconvenient state. He just had to figure out how to make it seem natural, how to—

“Ah, this is better.” Someone settles against his legs and with a start Chansung realises that while he was plotting, Junsu had relocated to the floor in front of the couch. This wouldn’t be a problem, except that in the process he’s stolen the pillow Chansung had identified as his saviour and slipped it under his busted knee.

Chansung resists the urge to pull Junsu’s hair, the effort made easier by another insistent twitch from the direction of his pants.

“What the fuck,” he hisses under his breath. “This is ridiculous.”

“Right?” agrees Wooyoung, jostling comfortably beside him. “Other team’s a shoo-in.”

When Wooyoung moves his leg brushes against Chansung’s, and where Chansung would usually either not notice the contact or consider it an invitation to lie all over him, for once it’s the very last thing he wants. Every scrape of fabric against fabric sends another shiver through his body and the Itch feeds on them all, making him hotter and more uncomfortable, and always more aware.

Chansung ducks forward again and threads his hands together, letting one elbow slip from his knee to his crotch as unobtrusively as possible. “Mmmhmm,” he says noncommittally, pressing the point of his elbow to his straining pants. “Funny.”

Taecyeon sniffs and rubs sleepily at his nose, head jerking up for a moment before lolling to the side and dropping onto Wooyoung’s shoulder. The unexpected weight knocks Wooyoung into Chansung, and he slides down Chansung’s arm before throwing a hand out to steady himself. His fingers clutch at the first thing he finds, which happens to be Chansung’s crotch, and they both freeze for a second, until Wooyoung throws himself back as if burned. 

The jolt disturbs Jeonggam, who escapes the awkwardness by jumping onto Junsu’s shoulder and digging his claws in.

“Yah, Jeonggam-ah, get off!” Junsu tries to prise him off, almost ripping his t-shirt in the process, and after a moment of carefully disentangling the irritated cat, sets him on the floor. “Are you trying to tell me to go to bed?”

Jeonggam ignores him and licks disdainfully at a paw.

Junsu shrugs and turns to punch Taecyeon in the leg. “Wake up.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Or don’t, whatever.” Grabbing onto Taecyeon’s knee for support, Junsu levers himself upright, accidentally kicking the remaining pillow across the floor as he straightens. “I’m out.”

“Night,” Wooyoung says woodenly, and Chansung automatically does the same.

The TV flicks to commercials right after that, and they’re left in the lounge room with only Taecyeon’s whistling sleep-breathing and Jeonggam’s pointed cat-silence for company. Chansung isn’t sure who feels the most awkward out of himself or Wooyoung, but he’s pretty sure he’s got the edge on feeling the most uncomfortable, since his cock somehow recognised a hand that wasn’t his own and upped the pressure in his pants. He shifts infinitesimally. 

Wooyoung creeps closer to Taecyeon and glances up at the ceiling.

Chansung crosses his legs and clenches his thighs.

“I think,” Wooyoung says eventually, as Chansung tries to count sheep to stave off the Itch, only to keep stalling at suggestive numbers and having to start again, “that you should have a shower.”

Chansung pauses in his counting – sixty-nine, for the third time – and gives him a confused look. “I’ve already had a shower.”

Wooyoung stares determinedly at the TV screen. “Have another one. The bathroom is all yours.”

Chansung frowns. “Why would –“ Oh. _Oh_. He uncrosses and recrosses his legs and tries to play it cool. “Uh, haha. Yeah.”

Wooyoung watches an ad for sanitary napkins with studied fascination.

Chansung swallows and casts about for something to take the edge of his embarrassment, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Want to help a brother out?”

Wooyoung leaps to his feet, Taecyeon flopping headfirst into the empty space left behind and waking with a snort. “Huh? Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung snaps. Taecyeon recoils, all sleepy confusion, and the word holds enough venom to make Chansung sink into the couch in the hopes it will swallow him whole. 

Wooyoung sends him an unreadable look, lips pursed, eyes gleaming with something he can’t place, and though it’s hard to tell in the dark, in the flickering glow of the television it looks like his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. “You missed all the excitement.”

Chansung winces at the implication and turns his head towards the kitchen, cursing the Itch under his breath. He bites his lip and forces his gaze onto the handle of the plates cupboard, trying to empty his mind and ignore the prickle between his shoulders that tells him Wooyoung is still looking at him with that expression he doesn’t know.

Beside him, Taecyeon thrashes tiredly on the couch, probably initiating the standing-up process, and after a moment Wooyoung lets out a long breath. “This is insane,” he mutters obliquely, almost to himself, and then, louder, “I’m going for a walk.”

He snatches a jacket from the coat rack – Chansung’s pretty sure it’s one of his – and shrugs it on as he strides down the hall, the door shutting behind him with an irritated click. 

For a full minute Chansung sits there in the dark, Taecyeon’s quiet snores beside him barely audible over the still-playing TV, and then he sighs and makes his way to the bathroom to deal with this situation the only way he knows how.

 

\- - -

 

It’s bad enough that the Itch makes Chansung’s waking hours a living Hell, but a few nights later it assaults his dreams as well. He wakes up panting and sweating and hard all over and he’s already fumbling at the drawstring of his pants before he remembers he doesn’t sleep in the lounge room alone.

He cranes his neck to check on Wooyoung, and in a stroke of luck finds him lying on his side facing the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. Careful to be quiet, Chansung slides his fingers over the flat plane of his belly, scrapes his nails through the trail of coarse hair leading into his loose sleeping pants. Slipping his fingers under the waistband, he thumbs a line down his cock before bumping his knuckles over his straining balls. He tries a few lazy strokes, pushing up with his hips and thrusting into the circle of his hand, then tightens his grip and speeds up.

It’s not perfect but it has to do, and he’s close enough that it doesn’t even matter. He just needs heat and friction, and as his hand moves faster and the edge gets closer he forgets to be quiet, forgets Wooyoung’s there, and then he jerks once, twice, strains and releases, before letting his head thump back on the ground and lying there in a sweaty mess.

He’s half-inclined to just go back to sleep, since he’s hazy and boneless and the Itch is calmed for the first time in days, but the last thing he needs is one of the others finding him sticky and spent. Not only would he never live it down, it’s also in clear violation of their unspoken agreement to take care of things in their bedrooms or the bathroom. Sighing, he rolls over and contemplates getting up for the several minutes it takes for his breathing to calm again. 

When it’s finally steady he gets to his feet with a groan and pads down the hallway to the bathroom. Maybe he should just take his pillow there and move into the tub, since at the rate he’s going he’ll be spending every spare moment locked inside.

Just before he closes the door he hears the springs of the couch screech as Wooyoung sits up, and though Chansung manages to shut the door and lock it, his hand stays clenched around the knob because Wooyoung _never_ wakes up during the night, he sleeps like a log, and if he’s awake now, he’s been awake all along, which means –

He heard. Everything.

Chansung bangs his head against the wall because it’s so fucking embarrassing, and then bangs it once more, because the realisation has just made him hard again.

 

\- - -

 

Wooyoung doesn’t bring it up and Chansung can’t bring himself to mention it, and as time passes Chansung manages to convince himself that maybe it was a coincidence after all and Wooyoung really did just happen to wake up _after_ the fact. He tries not to dwell on it and the Itch makes that easy for him, keeping his senses on edge and his mind distracted by flaring up every time he thinks of talking to Wooyoung about what he may or may not have heard.

It strikes in the kitchen again a few days later – he wanders in close to bedtime, not feeling particularly Itchy, but aware that that could change at any time. It’s finally occurred to him that maybe a drink could dull the increasing sensitivity of his skin all over, clothes rubbing against skin too hot and raw to take the friction, and since sex isn’t on the agenda then alcohol is the logical next entry on his list. 

He pauses in the doorway because the kitchen is occupied – Wooyoung’s got his back to the door, retrieving a tub of ice cream from the freezer, and his muscles lock guiltily as if expecting a reprimand. Chansung just blinks as Wooyoung glances cautiously over his shoulder, and his whole body relaxes when he sees it’s only him and not Minjae, who would rip him a new one for ignoring his diet, or Khun, who would quietly lecture, or Taecyeon, who would blackmail him for rest of his life.

“Oh,” says Wooyoung, without inflection. “It’s you.”

Chansung nods dumbly because it’s all he can do right now; at the sight of Wooyoung in his pajama pants and wifebeater, hair still damp from the shower, the Itch has returned with a vengeance and made him start to throb. Wooyoung’s shoulders work as he reaches again for the ice cream, muscles sliding cleanly under his skin, and Chansung bites his lip and follows Wooyoung with his eyes as he crosses to the bench and plonks the tub on the counter.

“You want some?” Wooyoung asks without looking, pulling open the cutlery drawer and rummaging around for spoons. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just drops two spoons on the bench before pushing the drawer shut with his hip. One of the spoons falls off, landing on the floor with a ting, and Wooyoung huffs in annoyance before crouching to pick it up, the movement pulling the thin cotton of his pajama pants tight against his ass.

Chansung stares at Wooyoung’s ass until it registers that he’s _staring at Wooyoung’s ass_ , and the moment the realisation dawns he shuts his jaw with a snap. The Itch has clearly done something to his brain because it’s one thing to sport a constant hard-on and another thing entirely to be turned on by his bandmate’s ass. Especially one who’s heard him jerk off.

Wooyoung straightens and gives him a furtive look before sliding the dropped spoon across the table. “And this one is yours.”

Chansung jolts into motion and walks uncomfortably into the kitchen, taking the spoon and working the handle between his fingers. Wooyoung opens a cupboard and pulls down two bowls, tongue peeking out over his lips as he carefully distributes the ice cream between them.

Chansung’s feet move without prompting and before he knows it he’s standing behind Wooyoung, chest flush against his shoulders. Wooyoung stiffens but doesn’t move away, jabbing him in the stomach with his elbow. “Checking to see if you’re getting as much as me?”

Chansung shakes his head and leans forward until his chin rests on Wooyoung’s shoulder. Wooyoung ignores him and continues scooping, eyeing the bowls carefully before deeming the servings an appropriate size and reaching for the lid. The movement almost dislodges Chansung and he reaches out reflexively, sliding his arms around Wooyoung’s waist and fitting him against his hips. Wooyoung elbows him again and Chansung lets him, tightening his arms and holding him close.

Wooyoung freezes in place. “What are you doing?” His voice is wary and the vibrations hum through his chest, buzzing pleasantly against Chansung’s flushed skin.

“I don’t know,” Chansung replies distractedly, pushing his chin onto Wooyoung’s shoulder and angling his nose close to his neck, before brushing his lips down the straight line of his jaw.

“Are you drunk?” Wooyoung hisses, trying to force himself around, but Chansung doesn’t let go, keeping Wooyoung within the circle of his arm. Angling his head further, he slides his cheek against Wooyoung’s neck, letting his mouth fall open and lightly scraping his teeth over the bare skin of Wooyoung’s shouder.

“I’m Itchy,” Chansung mumbles into the cotton of Wooyoung’s wifebeater. He tugs at it with his teeth.

Wooyoung jumps at the contact, head snapping up in surprise, and Chansung takes the opportunity to move his mouth to the hollow of Wooyoung’s throat, licking a trail up to his jaw and sucking at his neck.

“Chansung—“ Wooyoung bites out, body still stiff within his grip, throat working under Chansung’s lips. One of Wooyoung’s hands slaps down onto the counter, fingers moving shakily over the laminex, and Chansung barely notices one of his own hands loosening its hold on Wooyoung’s shoulder before making its way down his chest, grazing lightly over the bump of a nipple, ghosting over the flat plane of his belly and coming to rest on the waistband of his pants.

Wooyoung sucks in a breath just as Chansung’s hand drifts lower still and they both freeze as his fingers encounter the obvious bulge in Wooyoung’s pants.

Chansung’s hand locks in place and his eyes fly open. Reality returns with a crash.

Carefully he withdraws his hand from Wooyoung’s crotch, fingers shaking and heat still scorching his palm, and then lifts his mouth from Wooyoung’s neck, his lips detaching with a faint, wet sound. Wooyoung stares straight ahead, eyes boring holes into the cupboard, chest rising and falling with sharp, staccato breaths.

Chansung swallows with difficulty. “I, uh—“

Wooyoung spins on his heel and strides from the room before he can stammer some sort of apology, leaving Chansung alone with his libido, two rapidly melting bowls of icecream, and absolutely no excuse for what he’s just done.

 

\- - -

 

Wooyoung starts sleeping late and rising early, making it impossible for Chansung to catch him alone, but he keeps an eye on him the next day and the next, waiting for a chance to apologise or for Wooyoung to out his deviant nature to the rest of the guys. To Chansung’s surprise there are no obvious signs of revulsion or annoyance; Wooyoung is his usual mix of sly humour and indifference when they’re all together as a group, and so after a while Chansung lets himself relax.

As much as the Itch lets him, of course.

In fact, it occurs to him on the third day that this might even be a good thing – maybe he can explain the Itch to Wooyoung and get a second opinion on the thing. Wooyoung has never been easily fazed and the number of weird things Chansung has done to him recently is enough to ruin friendships, but he’s still around and acting mostly normal, so maybe it’ll be okay.

The opportunity to have their Serious Conversation appears the next evening, when everyone else is either out or sleeping or in the bathroom, and they’re left alone in the lounge room again. Wooyoung doesn’t bother with polite smiles or pretence so Chansung forgoes them this time also, and gathering his courage, drops to his knees in front of where Wooyoung is sitting on the couch. 

Wooyoung jerks his feet off the floor in surprise, looping a protective hand around his shins and hugging his knees to his chest. He gives him a look that tells Chansung he hasn't forgotten what happened in the kitchen, regardless of how he's been acting of late. “What are you doing?”

Chansung shuffles closer and tries to kneel comfortably, which is suddenly difficult, since the Itch is clamouring for attention once more. “Wooyoung. Woodong.”

Wooyoung stares down at him, face impassive. “Yes?”

“Woodongie.” Chansung reaches out and grabs both of Wooyoung’s ankles, tugging his feet back to the floor and resting his chin on Wooyoung’s knee. “I need your help.” 

“You need help, clearly,” Wooyoung counters, snatching up a couch cushion and planting it between Chansung’s face and his lap. “I don’t think I’m qualified to sort you out.”

“Woodongie.” Chansung digs his chin into Wooyoung’s knee and strokes lightly over his exposed ankle with his thumb. Wooyoung twitches. “Help me.”

Wooyoung smacks him on the head. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Chansung lifts his chin but continues the ankle-stroking in the hopes it will soften him up. “I need a favour.”

Wooyoung doesn’t relax and continues giving him a wary look. “Go on.”

“That no one else can help me with.”

“I highly doubt that, but sure, I’ll bite.” Wooyoung tugs his ankle free. “Just hurry up and ask.”

Chansung gives him the hopeful look that always seems to work on fans, old ladies and his mother. “Can I borrow your hand?”

Wooyoung eyes him suspiciously. “That depends on what you want it for.”

Chansung increases the voltage of his hopeful smile until he thinks Wooyoung is dazzled, or at the very least, less suspicious. 

Wooyoung sighs. “Fine.” He lays his right arm down on his leg and wriggles his fingers at Chansung. “There you go.”

Releasing Wooyoung’s other ankle, Chansung grabs the proffered hand and pulls it to his chest, jerking Wooyoung forward until he’s forced to steady himself on Chansung’s shoulder.

Wooyoung averts his gaze to a space above Chansung’s head. “Seriously, what do you want it for?”

Chansung winds his fingers around Wooyoung’s wrist. “Remember a couple of weeks ago, when I asked you to help a brother out?”

Wooyoung stiffens. “Yes.”

Chansung guides their joined hands towards his pants. “Well—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Wooyoung snatches back his hand, kicks him in the shin, and all but runs from the room.

 

\- - -

 

The kick hurts, but Chansung feels the blow to their friendship even more keenly. For the next week Wooyoung doesn’t meet his eyes, barely speaks a word to him, and – most telling of all – goes back to sleeping in his bed, something he hasn’t done in over a year.

It’s clear to the others that something isn’t right between them, but Chansung is too embarrassed to admit the reason and Wooyoung’s too angry to say a word. Jeonggam’s staying with his parents so the lounge room is all Chansung’s, and he finds it hard to sleep without Wooyoung’s steady breathing and comforting presence only a metre away. He’s truly alone at night now, and it hurts.

He’s truly alone except for the Itch, of course, which has amped up its efforts and now strikes every day without warning, sometimes even twice. Chansung spends so much time jerking off that he’s afraid his right arm muscles will double in size and he’ll become a lopsided gorilla just like Jinyoung hyung.

After a week of creeping around and regretting and Itching, Khun seeks him out in their bedroom and sits next to him on the bed. 

“What happened between you and Wooyoung?” he asks, right to the point, and Chansung’s spine straightens automatically at his brisk, businesslike tone. “Who screwed up?”

Chansung winces for several reasons and carefully crosses his legs. “Uh, that would be me.”

Khun presses his lips together in annoyance. “Then why haven’t you apologised?”

Chansung gives him an incredulous look. “You think Wooyoung wants to even look at me?” He points at his leg, a yellowing bruise standing out halfway down his shin. “He did this! That’s how angry he was!”

Khun wrinkles his nose at Chansung’s argument. “Did you deserve it?”

 _Yes_ , Chansung thinks, remembering the lounge room and the kitchen and the lounge room again. He looks at the floor.

Khun takes that as an affirmative. “If you messed up, maybe you should count yourself lucky that’s all you got. But it’s done now and we’re all sick of this standoff, so just man the fuck up and grovel at his feet.” Advice dispensed, Khun gets up and brushes off his pants. “And do it soon, it’s affecting the rest of us.”

Chansung watches him go sadly, and as soon as the door is shut, thrusts his hand down his pants.

 

\- - -

 

With a new single in the works it’s time for days and days of choreography, hours of sweating in the studio and forcing their aching bodies through the same sets of movements, over and over again. Chansung welcomes the torture because for once it means he’s strained and hurting all over, instead of just in one place.

It’s a nice change, almost pleasant, but he keeps that thought to himself when he sees Junho’s bare feet leaving sweaty footprints on the polished floor, or the lines on Taecyeon’s forehead when he presses his lips together in pain. He tries not to look at Wooyoung all together, because even the sight of him makes him feel guilty and anxious and the Itch seems to flare whenever he’s around. Khun’s advice keeps ringing in his ears but Chansung just doesn’t know how to approach Wooyoung after everything he’s done.

Blissfully oblivious to the swirling undercurrents of awkwardness and the mounting levels of physical hurt, on the third day of choreo bootcamp Namyong divides them all into pairs. “Khun and Junho,” he says, directing them to a corner of the studio, “Taecyeon and Junsu, and Chansung and Wooyoung. For the bridge I want a three-way challenge, like this.” He demonstrates a flowing body roll, then spins lightly to the centre and does a stomp-jump, before sliding to the right and executing a perfect backwards somersault. 

“Good?” he asks, looking between them all. “Good. Now practice what we’ve done so far until I get a chance to work with your pair.” He gestures at Khun and Junho to follow him to the corner. 

Chansung mournfully watches them go, trying not to think about how he’s been left alone with Wooyoung or how the Itch is instantly aware of this fact. He carefully readjusts his training shorts and turns a cautious smile on Wooyoung. “Hey.”

Wooyoung’s sitting on the ground with his knees tight against his chest, inspecting the hairs on his calves. “Yep.”

Chansung stares as Wooyoung’s fingers trace patterns on his skin and swallows, unwelcome thoughts of other uses for those fingers coming to mind. He shakes his head to clear it and scowls heavily at a spot above Wooyoung’s head. “Um, you got it so far?”

“Yep.” Wooyoung’s hands slide down his legs and settle on the floor beside his ankles as he leans forward and rests his chin on his knees. He flicks a glance up at Chansung. “You?”

A nervous laugh bubbles up Chansung’s throat. “Haha, yeah.”

Wooyoung looks down at the floor again and starts writing letters on the wood. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Chansung echoes, and wishes he knew how to broach the subject of the kick and everything that had led up to it. _Sorry for coming on so strong_ probably won’t cut it, and he’s pretty sure _the Itch made me do it!_ isn’t much of an excuse either. He’s just about ready to tell Wooyoung to kick him again if it will help things, kick him ten more times if that’s what he needs, when Wooyoung lets out a breath and makes eye contact.

“Sorry,” Wooyoung says abruptly. His face is expressionless but Chansung thinks his own is probably making up for that. Wooyoung points at his leg. “For kicking you.”

“Huh?” says Chansung stupidly, feeling like he’s missing something. “I mean, what?”

Wooyoung stretches out his leg and kicks at the air. “You know.”

Chansung blinks and tries to process faster. “Just…what?”

The corners of Wooyoung’s mouth turn down in annoyance. “What part don’t you understand?”

Chansung drops into a crouch and leans forward, resting his hands on Wooyoung’s knees. “All of it.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and jerks his legs to the side, knocking Chansung over. “Live in ignorance, then.”

Chansung wriggles closer and rests his head on his arm, staring up at Wooyoung and trying to figure him out. “But I grabbed you and—“

“You took me by surprise,” Wooyoung interrupts, dragging the back of his hand over his forehead. He gazes fixedly at the opposite wall. “I wasn’t expecting it, and I reacted badly.”

Chansung blinks again and attempts to sort through Wooyoung’s words. He’d been acting weird because of the kick, not what led to it? He’d been feeling sorry, not revolted? He’d been—

A foot from behind pushes him over and Chansung groans into the floor as Namyong jabs the toe of his sneaker repeatedly into Chansung’s ass. “What did I say?”

Wooyoung jumps to his feet and brushes off his shorts. “We were going over what we’d done already.”

“Really,” says Namyong flatly, switching to his heel and kneading Chansung’s ass harder. 

Chansung looks up at Wooyoung and stretches his arms out imploringly.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and grabs his hands, pulling him upright with a grunt. “Yes, we were discussing the steps in great detail. This routine is a masterpiece, right Chansungie?” He fake-beams up at Chansung, the set of his eyes willing him to play along.

Chansung opens his mouth to agree when he and the Itch realise in tandem just how close Wooyoung is, setting off another rush of heat that arrows straight to his crotch. He winces and bites his lip, jerking his hips back.

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at him. “Chansungie?”

“Bathroom break,” Chansung manages, before turning and sprinting out the room, Taecyeon’s laughter and jibe about _shitty timing, right_ following him down the hall, dogging his steps like the Itch itself until he finds the restroom and locks himself inside.

 

\- - -

 

Somehow there’s a tentative peace after that. Chansung can’t help but feel they’re still on the edge of something, one step from a precipice, although that could just be the Itch talking, since he’s constantly riding the edge of that. Wooyoung returns his blankets, pillows and self to the lounge room, much to Junho’s poorly-disguised relief, and the atmosphere feels both lighter and heavier, weighted down with so many things unsaid. Chansung’s still not quite sure what to make of Wooyoung’s apology and rather sudden about-face, but he’s happy to have his friend back, even if the Itch does kick it up a notch with Wooyoung around all the time.

He’s not sure what to make of the Itch’s obvious Wooyoung-bias, either, because the more he thinks about it, the more he’s certain that the ebb and pull of the Itch is directly related to Wooyoung in some way. He can go hours with just a dull buzz at the back of his mind, not unlike the pre-Itch horniness of a twenty-two-year-old male mind thinking twenty-two-year-old male thoughts, and then Wooyoung will walk in the room or send him a text or just go through his mind and he’ll be hot and straining, and it just doesn’t make sense.

Thoughts chase themselves around in his brain in an endless cycle that mirrors the Itch, until one night he’s rudely jolted awake by a spike of need that has him erect in seconds, torn from a dream he can’t quite remember, and he’s on his feet and stumbling to the bathroom before he knows what’s going on. He doesn’t even have a chance to wonder why the door is closed before he’s tearing it open and staggering through, and then the sight of someone standing near the bath is like a bucket of cold water thrown over him, freezing everything except his cock, because the door was closed because Wooyoung’s in here, one hand braced against the wall and the other a slick blur.

At Chansung’s entrance Wooyoung hisses in annoyance, pushing away from the wall and pulling his pants back up. “For fuck’s sake, Chansung,” he growls, crossing to the sink and flicking the tap on with a vicious twist. “It’s all right for you to flop your dick out in the lounge room, but I’m not allowed to wank in peace?” He thumps angrily on the soap dispenser.

Chansung stares at him with big eyes, breath catching in his throat. “Do you have the Itch as well?”

Wooyoung gives him an _are you high?_ look in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed. “What’s the itch? Herpes?”

Chansung closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of the tub, pressing his knees together and looking at his hands. “No, just…for ages now, I’ve felt horny all the time, and I can’t control it. I just get hard at the drop of a hat and jerking off is less and less help and Minjae hyung won’t let me get laid and –“

Wooyoung turns the tap off, patting his wet hands over his face and rolling his eyes at the mirror. “Believe me, he’s doing you a favour.”

“I don’t care!” Chansung snaps, surprising them both. He stares fixedly at the floor and links his hands together in case he starts doing something with them without noticing. “I can’t take this much longer. That’s why I wanted to see if you’d be up for an exchange, you know? You scratch my Itch, I scratch yours, that sort of thing.” 

Wooyoung reaches for the hand towel but doesn’t wipe his face, instead just standing there and looking down at the cotton. “An exchange,” he echoes flatly. 

Chansung drags a hand through his hair and leans forward, the cold edge of the tub digging into his ass. It’s uncomfortable but at least it’s a slight distraction; the Itch is unrelenting now, both from Wooyoung’s proximity and the awareness of what he’d been up to before Chansung had come in. Chansung takes a breath and tries to calm his racing heart. “Yeah.”

Wooyoung’s fingers clench and he twists the towel around in his hands. “I suppose you’ve asked everyone,” he says coldly, turning his head to an angle where Chansung can’t see his expression in the mirror.

Chansung blinks. “Huh?” he asks, surprised that Wooyoung would think such a thing. “Why would I do that? You’re the only person I’ve talked to about this.”

Wooyoung lets out a disbelieving snort. “Just me?” He shifts and then he’s looking at Chansung in the mirror again, his eyes flat and hard. “Why am I so special?”

The Itch sends another flash of heat through him and Chansung hisses, leaning over and letting out a low pant. “I don’t even know,” he replies breathlessly, because he can’t explain it, he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t even know when it started or why, he just knows that the Itch wanted Wooyoung the whole time and somewhere along the way Chansung’s started to want him too.

He takes another breath to calm himself and swallows with difficulty. “You just make me Itchy,” Chansung says simply, easing back and looking up at the mirror again. Wooyoung’s still staring back at him. “You make me so Itchy that I’m burning and tingly and it won’t go away on its own and I was hoping I could help you help me, help me out, together, I don’t know, I just want—“ Chansung swallows the rest. He’s not sure how to say it and wishes there was some way to just show him instead.

Wooyoung’s fingers relax on the hand towel. “You really haven’t said this to anyone else?”

The Itch sends another pulse and Chansung sucks in a breath, confused. “Huh? I just explained that.”

Wooyoung lets out an irritated sigh. “You have such poor communication skills.” He scrubs a hand over his face, and when he looks back up his eyes have taken on a speculative gleam. “So you want me?”

Chansung gives him an offended look, the best one he can muster over the impatient pressure of the Itch. “Haven’t we covered this?”

Wooyoung turns around and leans back on the basin, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “And what, I scratch your ‘itch’? And then we’re done? Just a one-time sort of deal?” There’s that look in his eyes again, the one that Chansung hasn’t been able to read, but something must have changed between them because Chansung can kind of decipher it now, and it finally occurs to him that maybe all the stuff he’s been experiencing these last few months, all the straining muscles and sleepless nights and moments where he just has to touch Wooyoung all over…maybe he hasn’t been experiencing them on his own.

“I…I don’t think once will be enough,” Chansung says, surprising himself. The Itch has been around so long he’s not sure he can take the edge off with one encounter. He’s not even sure he wants to. “The exchange can be an, um, ongoing one.”

“Ongoing,” Wooyoung echoes. Suddenly his face softens and a smile tugs at the edges of his lips. Chansung swallows hard. “Okay. Throw me a towel?”

Chansung glances over his shoulder at the towel rack. “Your towel?”

“Anyone’s. No, wait.” Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Junsu’s, it’s the thickest.”

Tugging Junsu’s luxury bath sheet off the rack, Chansung obediently hands it over. Wooyoung takes it and folds it in half, then half again.

Chansung watches him, his curiosity overriding the Itch for once. “What are you doing?”

Wooyoung ignores him. “Sit on the very edge of the bath, like you were before.”

Still not quite following, Chansung does as directed anyway, frowning further when Wooyoung pulls his knees apart and drops the towel on the ground between his legs. 

Comprehension dawns when Wooyoung kneels on the towel and reaches for the drawstring on Chansung’s pants. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

“I’ll take care of the first part of the exchange,” Wooyoung tells him, tugging at the pants until Chansung rises to help him ease them down. “You can return the favour when I’m done.”

Chansung twists frantically on the edge of the bath and thinks _wow, I should have said something earlier_ and _should I take my shirt off?_ and _where do I put my hands?_ and then he stops thinking all together because Wooyoung takes up his end of the bargain, right into his mouth.

 

\- - -

 

Thirty-seven seconds later Wooyoung draws back and wipes his mouth, giving him a disgruntled look. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

Chansung wants nothing more than to slip bonelessly back into the cooling embrace of the tub and sleep for three days straight, because that’s how good he feels right now. He’s loose-limbed and languorous, relaxed to the point of contentedness, and Wooyoung’s mouth is magical or something because for the first time in months the Itch is absolutely and completely gone, no longer humming at the edges of his awareness or buzzing at the back of his brain. Years of always being the youngest, however, has hammered into him respect and the unquestioning understanding that others always come first, and while he’d _technically_ come first this time, a deal was a deal.

So, rather than falling back, as he very much wants to, Chansung pitches forward instead, knocking Wooyoung to the ground and leaning over him, resting his weight on hands that still tremble a little from long-awaited release.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling down at Wooyoung and trying to inject into it all the gratitude and happiness and relief that he’s feeling right now. He hopes he manages it, because _seriously_. He hasn’t felt this good in months.

Wooyoung flushes and turns his head away, flinging an arm up over his eyes. “Actions speak louder than words,” he says, voice muffled by his shoulder, but Chansung can see the curve of his lips as he grins into his shirt.

“Yes,” agrees Chansung, and proves it beyond a doubt.


End file.
